Phlegethon
by Nanatsusaya
Summary: Aya's cynical view on beaches. [Yaoi: YojixAya]
1. Morning, Beach

_Morning ~ About 11:30_

  
            Who's fucking idea was it to go to the beach?  I had much better things planned for my two days off than this, but, as usual, I got suckered into going along with whatever insane idea those slackers had in mind.  So, here I am, left forgotten in the wake of three half-dressed goons tripping over each other in their mad dash to the crashing waves.  There happened to be a large cooler, four bags, and an odd assortment of other beach-related items scattered at my feet, also left behind.  I supposed they hadn't considered how long it would take me to drag all this junk down the hill to a spot I'm sure Omi would take _hours_ to declare suitable.  Maybe I should just leave them here.  No…then I wouldn't hear the end of it for weeks….    
  


  
            Okay, defeated sigh, grudging submission, lean down, laboriously drag that damn cooler to the water, and ask where I should put it.  Perfectly planned—easy as that.  

            "Aya-kun!"   
  


'Well isn't this a pleasant surprise—long time no see.  Sorry, can't talk right now, got to play pack mule for YOU LOSERS,' is what came to mind as I confronted Omi, hopping toward me over the burning hot sand and leaving an uneven trail of water leading to the ocean below.  Instead I just glared…as usual.  
  


            "Aya-kun, do you need some help carrying the stuff…?"  He grinned at me sheepishly, as if apologetic for leaving me in the proverbial dirt.  Well, not quite so figurative.  There is rather a lot of sand.  I sighed and nodded compliantly, handing the boy several bags.  Grinning like a maniac, he dashes off in search of a proper 'oasis' for us to lounge in.  Oasis my ass…. The whole place looks to me like a desolate wasteland of scorching sand, speckled with humanity seething bliss and enjoyment.  It's a perfect rendition of Hell in my eyes.  If I live through this trip I'm going to disown all three of them.  Grimly, I clutch the handle of the cooler and follow my guide into the depths.  People immediately started giving me strange looks as I trudge past them.  So what if I'm fully clothed?  Modesty should be required on public beaches—especially when you are as obese as the man playing Frisbee in the Speedo I nearly had the pleasure of being crushed by when he overbalanced trying to catch the disc.  A few minutes after that incident a girl of about fourteen or fifteen, looking as if she had two watermelons strapped to her chest with nothing but a couple of oversized rubber bands, attempted to sidle closer than I felt was necessary.  A little farther along, dodging the crowd of freaks (all of which were mostly likely thinking the exact same thing about me) on the way, Omi stopped so abruptly he backpedaled onto my toes.       

"I found the perfect spot!" Omi told me excitedly.  At least he hadn't taken too long about it.   Running a little bit ahead, he plunked down the bags he was carrying and stood triumphantly grinning at me.  "Here!"  Wow, the kid managed to find a section of the beach…that looked exactly like every other section of the beach.  Opting to keep my mouth shut (as usual), I wade forward, cooler banging my heels which were already a bit raw from the pounds of grinding sand weighing down my shoes.  Omi immediately starting organizing and arranging the beach paraphernalia.  I kept my distance, as he can be very anal and fussy about making these kinds of things perfectly comfortable and inviting.  The sunlight is already starting to get on my nerves—I can hardly see anything it's so blindingly bright, not to mention the fact that I can feel it working horrific wonders on the color of my skin.    

After what seemed like hours, our little Martha Stewart finally had the arrangement he desired.  Grinning from ear to ear, he snatches up my hand tugs my arm like a leash to a dog, "Come on, Aya-kun!  Take a walk with me."  

By the way he behaves, you would never be able to tell Omi is a senior in high school.  His antics sometimes were much more appropriate for a boy of about five or six.  Like now….  I can't imagine what this must look like to the casual critics littered around the beach.  Our hike lasted for nearly and hour, Omi jabbering away a mile a minute the entire time about anything that popped into his head.  I maybe said…oh…about three words.  On the way back we meet up with Yoji, who proceeds to leer at me.  I really, really dislike that look.  It makes my skin crawl just considering what's going on in that perverted brain of his, and I can just about guarantee it involves me, a bed, handcuffs, and a can of whipped cream.       

            The next half hour is spent struggling against Yoji and Omi, who were trying to shove me into the water.  I already told them, I don't do large bodies of water.  If Ken was helping I would be done for, but, luckily, he had been abducted by a group of volleyball players nearby.  Much hissing and growling ensues on my part, and they finally give up the hopeless struggle.  I allow myself a good smirk before stretching out over most of the beach blanket on my stomach.  First come, first served—since they're elsewhere, I get to claim the whole thing.  I deserve a little gratification for tolerating this trip well enough.  Actually, now that I'm down here…it's quite cozy and comfortable….  A good place to have a catnap and…come to think of it, I am a little sleepy…. Mm…they can't bother me if I'm asleep…. Yes….


	2. Afternoon, Beach

_Afternoon ~ About 3:30 _

Around 3:30, I am rudely awakened by Yoji splashing water on my back and yelling something about my skin being the same color as my hair.  Damn it, I thought I had discovered a way to avoid them.  Picking up my head to glare at him suddenly turns into a painful undertaking.  Why…?  My eyes fall to my arms, which I had had folded under my head while I slept, and am greeted with a most unsightly image.  Yoji is very right—my skin _does_ match my hair now, but only in certain places.  On the top, from a few inches below my elbows to where my T-shirt sleeves end, is a solid stretch of brilliant, lobster red.  To top it off, there is a perfect sketch of my hand on the right one, which probably meant that…yep, my left hand had sacrificed itself for my arm.  The underside is still blindingly white.  I'm guessing the back of my neck and left side of my face matches, judging from the way it hurts like hell when I move just a little bit.  A curse on red hair and blue eyes!  They will forever remain the evil henchmen of the sun.  

Yoji is caught between the urge to burst out laughing and be sympathetic, which twists his face into a very odd expression.  After a moment, it's clear the mirth is winning.  "Shut up…" I growl at him, examining my over-cooked arms again.    
  


  
"I think there might be some aloe in one of these bags here…ah-ha!"  After a minute or so of rummaging he had manages to unearth a bottle of greenish goop.  I don't think it looks particularly appealing.    
  


  
            "That looks disgus--," is the only thing I have time to say before he flops down in the sand and pulls me into his lap.  I think I shall have to kill him later for that.     
  


  
"No, no, it's really nice!  It'll make you feel better."  Yoji is now grinning like the idiot he is and somehow resisting all my struggles to escape.    
  


  
            "I'm fine!  Let me go, dammit!"  Fantastic, there's a mother nearby that now has to explain to her curious children why the two grown men are 'acting like mommy and daddy.'  I elbow Yoji as hard as I can in the gut, and scramble upright, panting from the exertion.  The unburned cheek is now flushed to match the sunburn judging from the temperature of it.  People are…watching me….  I'll be lucky if I have even a shred of dignity left when this is over.  With a snarl, I shake off Yoji's hand and stalk off to find some relief from the relentless sunlight.  To think, the idiot had the nerve to try and touch _me_ in public!  I barely let him come near me even at home, and that's only after a thorough survey for possible hidden cameras, wiretaps, or other such devices, and a definite schedule of Omi and Ken's comings and goings had been acquired.  Call me paranoid, but I have a reputation to uphold here.

            Hothead introverted to his own anger that I am, I do not realize until it's much too late that I had waltzed right into the midst of Ken's impromptu volleyball game, which happens to be still going strong from hours before.  Stupid, stupid, stupid….  Maybe if I walk very slowly and look straight ahead he won't notice me.  

            "Oi!  Aya!  Play with us?" 

How foolish of me to compare Ken to a dangerous, albeit dim-witted, large animal.  I don't mean to, it's just that he seems to fit the description so perfectly more often than not—slow and naïve when at rest, swift and deadly when provoked.  I think he knows I will refuse without a second thought, but he feels obligated, for the sake of being a decent human being, to inquire regardless.  

            "No," I answer shortly and turn away.  

"Come on Aya, please?  We're one short since Naota had to leave."  Naota?  He's already on fist name terms with these people?  I will never understand Ken's affinity for charming the socks off every single person he meets.  It must be the way he emanates 'dumb jock' from ten yards away and seems to have 'harmless' written in big, blinking red letters across that vacant expression of his.  The general population likes that sort of personality.  

            "No."

"Come on, it'll be fun!"  I do not feel the need to respond any further—no means no, and Ken should understand that, especially coming from me.  "Please, please, please?"  Must he make a spectacle of himself and everyone else wherever he goes?  Ken is now crawling on his knees through the sand, until he's begging right at my feet.  Out of the goodness of my heart, I decide to ignore my groveling co-worker instead of smashing him over the head with the first thing that came to hand like I would most other days.  

            I continue to wander down the shore, Ken's pleading voice drowned out by the sound of the water and the people enjoying them selves.  The heat along with the commotion whichever way you look is a dizzying combination.  If I don't find some shade soon I'm either going to faint or have a nervous breakdown, complete with homicidal rampage.  Shouldn't there be a bathhouse near here?  Café maybe…? Even a dead tree would be better than nothing.  Ah…there's a concession stand with a few sheltered tables.  That'll do just fine, and perhaps the other three won't find me for at least an hour…. 


End file.
